He’s running on adrenaline, and before he realizes it, he’s gripping the handrail and climbing the steps of Ethan Hall. The bell has rung, the halls are empty, and a strange sense of déjà vu washes over him.

He looks in every classroom on the first floor before heading upstairs. In the library, he checks the little alcove near the storage closet where she likes to sneak away and wait for him to finish work.

She’s not there.

Colin checks the bathrooms on the second floor, peeks into each classroom that he passes, the dining hall, and even the janitor’s closet. Nothing.

He texts Jay to meet him near the auditorium. Jay comes whistling down the hall, but the moment he sees Colin, his expression sobers. “Whoa. What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen Lucy?”

“Not since yesterday.”

Colin presses his forehead against the window.

“Col, what—”

“She’s gone.” His voice sounds so hollow and strange, like it belongs to someone else, and his breath fogs up the glass in front of him. “She was with me last night, and when I woke up . . . she was gone.”

“Relax. She’s probably just with—”

“She doesn’t have anyone else.” He meets Jay’s eyes, waiting, wanting him to understand what he’s saying without actually having to say it.

“I think we’re having a moment here,” Jay says, trying to ease Colin’s suffering. It works, and he almost smiles. Then, serious again, Jay adds, “She’s kind of a quirky girl, isn’t she?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“All right, man. Let’s find your Lucy.”

But they don’t find her. When they trudge out to the trail, Jay doesn’t say a word. When they circle the entire lake, he follows in Colin’s wake. When they cut across the snow-covered field and step inside the little shed to find it empty, he doesn’t ask Colin any questions.

Lucy doesn’t come back that night. And when Colin skips school the next morning to wait for her in the shed, she doesn’t show up then, either.

For ten days, he looks. He goes to class, he works when he has to, he finds his way to the trail where she woke up, hoping she’ll be there again. Maybe she’ll walk toward him, wearing her ass-kicking boots and a stolen uniform that’s too big.

He considers telling someone that she’s missing, but then realizes there’s nobody to tell. No one even notices that the pretty girl with the unsettling eyes and snow-colored hair is gone.

Finally, he can’t take the dorm, the school, the shed, any of it. Every single wall is imprinted with her shape, her willowy shadow. He bursts from the grounds on his single speed, blowing powdered snow and slush over the sidewalk as he takes off.

Legs pumping, heart racing, blood so hot so hot so hot in his legs, his chest, his grip so tight he can feel electric pulses of pain up and down his newly healed arm.

He jumps from curbs and trucks, train cars and the cables between. He rides over an icy rope bridge he’s never been able to balance on before, along a narrow train track and slips only twice. The sound of the train as it roars down the track, closer and closer, only makes him see more clearly, breathe freer. Feel alive. He does backflips he shouldn’t. He rides until his outsides feel as battered as his insides.

He tries to pretend that he’s not looking in every shadow for her. He decides it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Death lingers in cars, in quiet school buildings, and beneath the freezing earth. Death is everywhere, but his ghost is gone.

When he makes it back to his room in the thick of the night, he’s bruised and covered in scrapes. He suspects one of his ribs is cracked, but he’s alive and Lucy is only a memory.

CHAPTER 16 HER

LUCY HOVERS ON THE EDGE OF A DREAM WHEN the air seems to change around her. Behind her eyes it’s been wonderfully dark, but it’s so simple to lift her lids, let in the dull sunrise that creeps into the room. Colin is there, sleeping and warm. Somehow in the night they’ve changed places. She’s behind him with arms wrapped around his ribs.

“Are you working breakfast?” She glances at the clock. It’s already seven. “You’re going to be late.”

He rolls over so fast it’s jarring, his eyes full of terror and relief. And fury.

“Lucy.”

Fury?

He grabs her, pulling her to him so fast that she gasps as he presses his face into her neck. She closes her eyes, and the rapid beat of his heart moves through him and into her, vibrating her silent, empty chest, and she feels so full, almost carbonated. He makes a sound of frustration, almost a howl, as if he can’t hold her tight enough, can’t wrap enough of himself around her. She laughs and urges him onto his back, but when she looks down, she realizes he’s not laughing.

“What’s wrong? And what happened to you?” She reaches for a scrape on his forehead, an angry bruise on his chin. Those weren’t there before.

He sits up abruptly, and she slides from his lap onto the foot of the bed, landing a few feet away from him. His fury is bigger now. There’s more fire than affection in his hazel eyes.

“Where have you been?”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, reaching for him again. “You’ve been asleep. Last night was . . .” She stops, terrified now that what they did was only a strange, dark dream. “Last night you touched me and . . . I thought . . .”

“Last night? Last night, Lucy? Last night you weren’t here. You’ve been gone for almost two weeks.”

Cold fingers slip up inside her chest and curl around where her heart used to beat. “What?”